


Adil Ka Dil

by ArmedWithAStaringFly



Category: The Halcyon (TV)
Genre: (Mostly) Series Compliant, Adil is Muslim, Character Study, Headcanon, Indian History, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-11-29 14:03:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11442411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArmedWithAStaringFly/pseuds/ArmedWithAStaringFly
Summary: "'What’s India like?'Adil paused at pouring Toby Hamilton’s next drink."Adil navigates being an Indian immigrant in 1940s England while also navigating his feelings for his employer, who actually seems to be interested in where he came from.





	1. Urdu

**Author's Note:**

> Written because I always wanted to explore Adil's background in India and his place in England in the 1940s. To any Hindi/Urdu speakers, my grammar is pretty rusty so sorry if I screw anything up!

“What’s India like?”

Adil paused at pouring Toby Hamilton’s next drink. The question hung in the air for a moment, and Adil didn’t quite know how to react. The man in front of him leaned on the counter in a mildly buzzed stupor. His suit was more wrinkled than usual, and there a barely-hidden shaken hurt and anger over his face that Adil tried not to notice, as if someone--and hardly anyone in the hotel didn't know who--had just fought with him and won. Not that there was much else to look at, as the ballroom surrounding them was near empty, too early for the night crowd. But the younger Mr. Hamilton was known to start early, as Adil has learned quite well in the several years he had been working there. 

Wealthy Englishmen do not ask him about the country of his birth. Oh, they’ll tell him about it, in their typical polite tones; about their romps through the jungle and their prized tiger skins and their business deals and how Adil is so much more refined than the Indians over there, which they surely thought was a compliment.  But they did not ask. They weren’t much interested in the India of Indians. At least, not farther than spouting their opinions on the independence movement. The most was an occasional mention of the good Indian soldiers fighting in the war. But, even then, only in passing.

“What do you mean?” he asked, continuing to pour.

“Where’re you from? Which city?”

“New Delhi.”

“Ah, the capital of the Raj?”

“Yes.” Adil’s limbs still felt stiff as he slid Mr. Hamilton his drink. The man nursed it for a few moments, running his finger over the rim--Adil caught his eyes following the movement. He flicked them back up to his face.  

“Tell me about it,” Mr. Hamilton requested as he threw the scotch back faster than Adil had expected.

Adil nodded, “Well, the capital was moved from Calcutta in--”

“No no…” Hamilton waved his hand slowly in front of Adil’s face. “I know the history and dates and all that.  I want to know what it was like for _you_.”

Adil’s mouth opened, then closed. He had no answers for that. No one had ever asked. In fact, in the early years he’d trained himself not to discuss India--both to starve off the homesickness and because the English weren’t the keenest on listening to it. Especially not these days, as their departure from "the Jewel" was so significantly growing in popularity. So he swallowed, straightening his jacket and his back. “Well then.”

He thought back to the days of his youth, before the age of fifteen when his father announced that they were moving to England.

“New Delhi is a...different city from London, to say the least. Not as tall, not as gray. Still quite crowded and loud. My father owned a textile shop,” he began. He fiddled with the glasses in front of him without doing much with them in particular, just to busy his hands. Mr. Hamilton stared at him expectantly, and Adil realized that he needed to hear someone talk about something far away from here. “Mother used to help him, as did my sister when she wasn’t in school. I had a little more freedom when I was young. Sometimes my friends and I would run errands for neighbors for a little extra money, like fetch fruit from the market, since we could run between the carts and get them back faster. We’d take them and get some food for ourselves, or if we had the patience to save, sometimes we’d go down to the theatre and see a movie. They were long and not all of them were interesting to me, but there was something about the way people would sing along and move that I quite enjoyed. My favorites were mysteries and crime stories...there was one I remember really liking, _Jawani Ki Hawa_.”

Mr. Hamilton smiled, and Adil’s hand fumbled on the glass. He cleared his throat and continued.

“I didn’t mind school though. I learned English along with Urdu. I had this friend, Hayder…he was two years older and we attended the same school and mo...had the same religious circle. His brother drove a rickshaw, so after school he would get him to ride us down to this sweet shop. I loved rasgullas. I haven’t had anything that sweet here. They’re balls of pan--um, cottage cheese in a sugar syrup.” His mouth watered slightly at the memory. Of all the things he let himself miss about India, the food was a primary one. He didn't think British food had quite earned its reputation, but it was still bland to his tongue compared to the foods of his memories. 

“Sounds delicious,” Mr. Hamilton said in earnest. His tongue tried to form the word. “Rus-gul-la.” He frowned. “Not right at all. I’ll get it sometime.”

The word was indeed butchered, but Hamilton had at least tried. An infectious warmth spread through Adil’s chest. He tried to force it down. One memory in particular hung on his mind in that moment, one he most certainly couldn't relay to his employer. He didn’t remember what age he was exactly, twelve or thirteen. But the sweetshop, like most of the businesses around, was owned by a Hindu family (in fact, his father's shop was the only one on its street to be owned by a Muslim). Their young daughter would always perk up when he came in. Her dark eyes would crinkle into a bright smile as she scooped him his rasgullas, and sometimes if he was lower on money she’d let him off a few rupees with a wink. Adil appreciated her friendliness, though he tried not to take advantage. He’d smile and joke with her back, and she'd return with a perky laugh and perhaps slipping him an extra candy from behind the counter if her father wasn't looking. 

_The sun was setting when Neha finally let him go. Abba wouldn’t be happy, but he didn’t usually raise his voice. Just look at him with disapproval and return to his newspaper, and perhaps tell his mother later so she could fret if she wanted._

_“Watch yourself,” Hayder said with a chuckle as they’d left the shop, rasgullas in tow. “Don’t get as attached to that Hindu girl as she is to you. Her father would throw a fit, and you’d be as good as dead. Not to mention what your family would do.”_

_Adil blinked in surprise. He chose not to point out that his last name is Brahmin, so they’d probably mind less than Hayder is assuming. Instead, he lead with, “She likes me?”_

_Hayder turned to gawk at him. He laughed out loud before taking a bite out of his sweet, chewing thickly as he talked through it. “Adil, she stares at you the entire time you’re in the store. Haven’t you seen it when she talks to you? And the way she gives you discounts all the time?”_

_“I thought she was just being nice.”_  

 _“Sure she is. Just only to you.” Hayder fished for another rasgulla and shook his head. “But now that you know, don’t get any ideas. I know if a girl that pretty had eyes for me, I’d go for her Hindu or not. But I think you’re smarter than me.” Hayder winked at him, but Adil still felt nothing but bewilderment. He thought of her face, with it’s big brown eyes and her enthusiastic smiles and long dark hair braided over her shoulder. He perhaps understood what Hayder meant by pretty. He just didn’t_ feel _anything about it._

_It was that moment that he started to wonder if something was different about him._

“Could you maybe speak a little Urdu to me, Mr. Joshi? If you don’t mind? I’d love to hear it.”

Adil almost laughed out loud. Who knew what other surprises Mr. Hamilton had under his sleeve? He scraped his mind for something interesting to give him...a poem, a song, anything. But it was like everything about his native tongue had gone blank.

“Yeh din khoobsurat hai,” he said dumbly. But Mr. Hamilton smiled nonetheless.

“What does it mean?”

“This is a beautiful day.”

Mr. Hamilton’s smile spread a little wider. “It’s lovely." 

Adil recognized the song Betsey was rehearsing on the other end of the ballroom--the one that had always stuck in his head at the end of the night. He’d hum it as he helped clean the bar after hours, along with an Urdu love song from his childhood that it somehow reminded him of. Adil hardly remembered the lyrics, but the melodies were clear as day in his head. The longer he hummed them, the more the songs seemed to bleed into each other, until they became a lovely new song of both worlds. In any case, they made the time go faster. And lately, when he hummed them, his mind tended to wander towards certain subjects. 

He looked back to Toby Hamilton, leaning languidly on the bar with a crooked smile on his face and the glass twisting in his fingers. Adil noted how relaxed he seemed, when usually his mouth was turned down in a tense frown and his shoulders were slumped in a whole other fashion. It was a rare moment that he saw Mr. Hamilton in this kind of state. But oh, how Adil enjoyed them. Mr. Hamilton set his chin on his fist and hummed slightly as he started trailing his finger over his glass once again. Hayder’s warning played once more in his head, to not get attached to someone that he had no hope to be with. His assumption that Adil is smarter than to do so anyway.

Oh, how wrong he was.

“Anything more to tell me?" 

Adil stared at him for a long while. With a bitter laugh, he simply shook his head. “Mujhe lagta ki main aapse pyaar kartha hoon.” He quickly looked away, knowing Mr. Hamilton would not understand, but feeling absurdly bold anyway. 

Hamilton cocked his head. “What does that mean?”

In a moment of God’s grace, Tom's voice rang from the back to help stock the liquor for later in the evening. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hamilton, but it seems I must leave you.” Adil turned and walked away from the bar before he could protest, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves before disappearing behind the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical Notes:
> 
> The title "Adil Ka Dil" translates out to "Adil's Heart" (literally "Heart of Adil")
> 
> India in the 1940s was, of course, still being ruled by the British Raj, with it's capital in New Delhi. Though the Quit India movement didn't emerge until 1942, the movement for Indian self-rule was still much underway, particularly after the late-20s/30s.
> 
> The Indian population of the 1940s did much to support the war effort. Several factions of Indian independence movement supported it as well and encouraged it's followers to join, though there were revolutionaries that thought the Axis could help India fight against Britain (specifically, the Indian National Army, which fought with the Japanese). In 1942, the Japanese started bombing Calcutta. 
> 
> Urdu is a language much like Hindi in that it sounds pretty much identical when spoken (and is the same language altogether depending on who you ask), but is written in Arabic script. It is more commonly used by Muslims, and is the national language of Pakistan.
> 
> Rasgullas are not my favorite Indian sweet, but they are quite good...and was the name of my first fam in my school's Indian Student Association.
> 
> "Mujhe lagta ki main aapse pyaar kartha hoon" --"I think/feel that I love you" with the formal form of you ("aap")


	2. Chota Bhai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adil didn’t mean to hope. It was a dangerous thing in his position.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want to spend too much of this fic recapping the show, as I think others have done that and better than I will, but there are moments in this chapter that I wanted to explore. Thank you so much for the kind feedback, it really means so much to me! It's been a while since I've posted a multi-chapter fic, and I really hope you like this chapter too!

Servers never swore in front of the customers, no matter what happened or how rude they became. It was a rough transition for some of the staff, particularly those who had started at less refined establishments, but at the risk of their jobs they learned to make do. Even on the days when you could practically see their head about to burst from keeping it in.

“I can’t do this,” one waiter said to him in the confines of the wine cellar, “these fucking posh twits are driving me nuts. I just want to let loose on them.” The man spoke with a Newcastle accent thicker than he ever used in front of the Southern English gentry they were serving. Adil understood that; he’d forced himself to pepper his own accent with round vowels and softer consonants for the same reason, until it came naturally. His sister was scandalized when she first heard him speak this way, telling him that he’d started talking like those wealthy New Delhi boys who’d put on airs in their tailored western suits and turn up their noses outside father’s shop. He told her that he’d likely never have gotten a job at the Halcyon if he didn’t. At at this point, he couldn’t really turn it off.

But Adil had one advantage to the Newcastle man, in that most of the English in the bar--most being the key word, as a few of them did hold positions in India and learn to speak the local tongue, so he still had to be careful--did not know when he let out the occasional swear.

“ _Chodu_ ,” he grumbled at the retreating back of the man who had shoved a lady aside to demand his drink immediately, clearly having had enough already, and hissed a name that Adil didn’t particularly care for. Nevertheless, Adil had nodded, said of course sir, and fixed it up. It was nothing he hadn’t heard before, though usually those comments were whispers about “good English jobs” under the breaths of people who thought he couldn’t hear them.

“I’m not going to ask you what _that_ meant,” chuckled a voice beside him. He looked toward it in surprise, both at the voice and himself.

Toby Hamilton was not usually someone whose presence he failed to notice.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Adil replied with a slight smirk. Mr. Hamilton chuckled again.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your work, um,” he said quickly, nervously, “I just sat down, thought I’d read a little--”

“No problem,” Adil told him, and he gave him a nod before Hamilton returned to his book. Adil in turn returned to his bottles, but with the added factor of Toby Hamilton in the corner of his eye. He noted, though did his best not to think too much into, the fact that this is the third time this week Mr. Hamilton had come to his end of the bar. 

No problem, indeed.

Four drinks later, Mr. Hamilton dipped back his head to look at him. “Mr. Joshi..." Adil raised an expectant eyebrow. “I was watching the newsreel the other day, and they showed a clip of Indian soldiers speaking amongst themselves...I think it was Urdu? Though the man in the reel said it was Hindi.”

“It’s...both. Sort of.” Adil certainly knew the Devanagari script of Hindi too, but Urdu came more naturally to him, as it was the language of the books and newspapers his father kept in their house--along with English, of course. “Though India has many other languages.”

“Hm, interesting. It is really quite nice, though.”

“I’ll have to speak more of it to you sometime,” Adil said. The line sounded a lot better in his head, but Mr. Hamilton seemed to recognize the inflection of his voice. He didn’t say anything, but his mouth tightened into a slight smile.

“What are you smiling so much about?” Tom asked him when he reentered the wine stock.

“Nothing,” Adil replied, though the grin was still plastered on his face even as he collected the bottles.

_“What are you smiling about, beta?” His mother asked._

_“Nothing,” Adil replied._

_“Nothing? I doubt it.”_

_“I’m just happy, Ammi-ji.”_

_Before his mother could ask any more questions, he ran towards his room and shut the door firmly. He stood for several moments with his hand on the door, breathing deeply, before he tumbled onto his bed._

_Rahul had met him after school. They sat in the shade of a tree next to the river, one of the few secluded areas not visible to the people washing down the way. The sun wasn’t setting yet, but getting close to it, and a darkened haze had started to spread over the blue sky. Rahul bit the sweet yellow fruit from a mango skin as Adil lazily read aloud from the book an English teacher had given him as a child, rediscovered in the back of a drawer._

_“The Law of the Jungle, which never orders anything without a reason, forbids every beast to eat Man except when he is killing…”_

_“You know,” Rahul mused, “My brother didn’t like this book. He says it’s British propaganda.”_

_“Your brother thinks everything is British propaganda.”_

_“Maybe he’s right.” Rahul stared out to the flowing brown water in front of them, then slid down until he was adjacent to Adil. “He just went to Lahore and joined the Khaksars.”_

_Adil rolled over so he was facing him. “I’m not surprised. He’s talked about it enough.”_

_Rahul smiled, and Adil’s heart beat a little faster. Several years had passed since the sweetshop, and at this point he was a little more sure of what about him was different. It still scared him. He still wasn’t sure what to do about it._

_“What should become of us, habibi?” Rahul started again, waving his hand out to the river. “In the future?”_

_“I’ll probably own my father’s textile shop.”_

_“I would hope you can dream bigger than_ that _, Adil.” Rahul slid closer to him still, and Adil resisted the urge to scoot away. Not that he wanted to. But though the sun was lowering, he felt warmer. “Brother says that I would be a good leader in a self-ruling India, with the way I can speak and write.”_

_“He’s just trying to build himself a following with the easy pickings,” Adil teased, elbowing him in the side. “What do you actually want?”_

_To Adil’s nervous surprise, Rahul said nothing, only stared at him with wide, questioning eyes. Until he gently bent forward and pressed his lips to his. Featherlight, but there. Adil tasted the mango._

_Adil lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling. His heart had been racing in ecstasy the whole way back. He thought of Rahul--his thick black hair and amber, almost green eyes. His wide smile and his too-big ears and his teasing laugh. Adil had never been this happy in his life._

_And then._

_And then a feeling of dread washed over him._

_His heart was still beating. But it had become violent, anxious, wrought with the fear of God. Knowing this about yourself was one thing. But acting on it? A terrible guilt grasped his heart, and he looked towards his bedside table. On it sat his sister’s Quran. Suddenly, he felt like he was drowning._

_It had been so wonderful, it had felt so right. It felt_ pure _. How could something like that be wrong in the eyes of God?_

_He wanted to tell someone, to ask their advice. But who could he tell? Not his parents. Not his sister. Not his teachers, who talk of the indiscretions of today’s youth with irritated tuts. Anyone else he could think to tell would probably send it back to his family eventually anyway._

_Was kissing a boy enough to get him_ _arrested?_

_Adil rolled over and broke into gasping, conflicted sobs._

Adil didn’t mean to hope. It was a dangerous thing in his position. But then, in the days after Freddie Hamilton had become Lord Hamilton and Toby Hamilton’s spirits seemed to slowly rise in his newfound freedom, something seemed to change. Mr. Hamilton touched his hand. Undeniably, deliberately. It was just a graze as he handed him his glass, but it sent a spark through him that made all of his other thoughts pause. Those eyes slid up to his with a definitive flirtatiousness that Adil had never expected. For a moment, that gaze held. But then they were interrupted, and Mr. Hamilton went back to the somewhat awkward man he’d watched from the bar the last few years, greeting Mr. O’Hara in stiff embarrassment.

The touch played in Adil’s head like a broken record, in the back of his mind even through the busiest part of his shift. A smile played on his lips several times throughout the night, and Tom prodded again, though Adil just waved him off. A coffee, Adil thought idly as he poured another drink, would help Mr. Hamilton through his nights of work. He sent Tom up to his room with one.

Adil's curses were aimed at himself the next day. How stupid, he thought, to think Hamilton would accept his adva--acts of friendship. Even if he wanted to accept them, he couldn’t. He owned this hotel, Adil poured his bottles. And such was the world.

 _God help me,_ he thought as he watched Mr. Hamilton leave the bar with a sinking heart, feeling like he’d lost something that was never even close to his.

There was one detail of New Delhi that he hadn’t told Hamilton when he described it to him: the pale Englishmen and women with wide hats traveling through the wider, wealthier streets, not so much as looking down from their rickshaws or cars except to give orders to the desi man driving them. He’d have to work around them when he was doing errands, avoiding getting splashed by the wheels, because they hardly even saw him going past. Or cared.

He slammed the glasses onto their shelves a little too hard, wincing as they clinked too loudly. To think, he’d said... _those words_ to him. Even if Mr. Hamilton had no idea what they were, he was humiliated at himself. _Look at me,_ he thought bitterly, _the lovesick little servant boy trailing after my wealthy gora master._

And in time, he came to absolutely regret not heeding Hayder’s advice.  

 _God help me, oh God help me, I am a damned idiot,_ he thought again, watching Toby Hamilton retreat from him once more, but this time in shaken haste from the wine cellar. Adil almost couldn’t believe it, and his mouth went dry as he breathed out. After years of training himself into a straight-faced professional, years of careful emotional control, years of moderation--he couldn’t stop himself from making assumptions about his employer. From assuming that Toby Hamilton had a whole other reason for backing him into a secluded corner. From _acting_ on those assumptions.

There was an art to reading other men, slowly and painfully learned by everyone like him, he supposed. It was the constant struggle of analyzing those subtle and fleeting hints, and being brave enough to take that step forward while knowing the terrible risk should you be mistaken. Adil reminded himself of perhaps the most terrible catch of even the most finely honed skill: the heart fools you. Clouds your vision. Feelings, hope, make you see things that may not be there. 

The raid was almost a sick relief. But come the end after they had all returned to the ballroom, Adil saw Mr. Hamilton studying him from the other side. He nearly fumbled on the drink he was pouring. Hamilton’s expression was unreadable from the distance, but Adil felt scrutinized and vulnerable all the same. Every time he looked up, Toby Hamilton’s eyes were fixed on him.

He hardly slept that night. He just lay out on the bed in his Paddington apartment, watching the flies circle on the ceiling and imagining the worst--Toby Hamilton didn’t just have to have him fired. He could have him arrested for assault, or at least outed, and unable to work anywhere in the city. He ran a hand over his sweaty forehead and felt a sob well up in his throat, but forced himself not to let it out.

 _“Don’t cry, Chota Bhai,”_ his sister’s voice sang in his head. _“Just a waste of water.”_

Gently, his right hand reached towards his bedside table towards a letter from Ruhi. It was addressed to “Chota bhai,” as they always were, explaining simple family matters--his sister had long accepted that Adil was not a constant presence in their lives anymore, not like a younger brother should be. Despite that, she was very serious about writing to him, and getting letters back in return. He ran a finger over those first words.

_“Chota bhai? What’s wrong?” Ruhi asked from the bed next to him. She turned on her side to face him as he lay awake, restless and mind racing._

_“Nothing,” he choked out, none too convincingly. He hadn’t left that room since he first entered after Rahul kissed him, and he was afraid his eyes were still red and puffy from the crying. They certainly stung like it._

_She raised an eyebrow. “Nothing? Doesn’t look like it.” She scooted over on her bed, reaching forward to poke his nose like they did when they were children. He pushed her hand away with jesting annoyance, and for the first time in hours broke a smile. She laughed mischievously before shoving her hand back under her pillow. “Adil, what is it?_

_The heat that night was stifling, almost palpable in its heavy humidity. He ran a hand through his hair and it emerged damp with sweat. “I...I don’t know.”_

_Ruhi scoffed, rolling her eyes and placing her head back down on the pillow. She studied him with eyes almost identical to his--in fact, because she was only two years older, they were often mistaken for twins. “I remember those days. Crying in my room. They always had one cause. It’s about a girl, isn’t it?”_

_Adil truthfully shook his head._

_Both of Ruhi’s eyebrows raised this time. “No?” She closed her eyes. “You know you can tell me these things.”_

No, I couldn’t _, he thought. Oh, he wanted to. And for a moment, his mouth opened, and he almost blurted it out. But in another, he clamped it shut and rolled towards the door, away from her. She huffed, sounding genuinely hurt._

_“Alright,” he heard her say, “but if you change your mind, I’m right here.” She said no more. After a long while, he turned back to see her sleeping in the thin line of moonlight._

Adil resisted the urge to just run. But that measly display of self-control didn’t make him feel much better. He was still very much a damned idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language/Historical notes:
> 
> Chota Bhai--Little Brother
> 
> Chodu--Hindi/Urdu slang for fucker
> 
> Gora--Hindi/Urdu term for a white man
> 
> The Khaksar Movement was a Muslim-based social movement (though people of other faiths could and did join) aimed at India's liberation, formed in the 1930s and based in the city of Lahore. It was one of the movements that ended up being supportive of the war effort. Its founder, Khan Mashriqi, was imprisoned by the British in 1940. 
> 
> The Jungle Book was indeed British propaganda, and its author, Rudyard Kipling, also is famous for writing the poem "White Man's Burden." 
> 
> Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code reads as follows: "Whoever voluntarily has carnal intercourse against the order of nature with any man, woman or animal shall be punished with imprisonment for life, or with imprisonment of either description for term which may extend to ten years, and shall also be liable to fine." In practice, it outlaws homosexuality, among other things. It was drafted by the British Colonialists in 1860, and is still on the books in Indian law today, after being held up by the Supreme Court in 2013 despite significant protest.


	3. Hindustan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toby asks Adil something he doesn't expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be the last chapter, until I was struck with inspiration and decided to write one more, haha. Thanks again for all the love for this story, it really means so much to me!
> 
> And just thought I'd put this out there: I listened to Penn Masala's cover of Dheere Jalna as I wrote this, so maybe suggested listening?
> 
> "Dheere jalna, zindagi ki lau pe jalna"--Burn slowly, burn in the flame of life

Adil had to remind himself, repeatedly, that he was in fact kissing Toby Hamilton in his room and not just dreaming about it. Again.

Toby broke away to let in a shaky breath, but then pressed right forward again. His nerves had seemingly gone, just for the moment. Adil knew better than to think they wouldn’t come back. But he relished the moment he was in, relished the feeling of letting the name “Toby,” rather than Mr. Hamilton, cross his lips.

“I’m sorry if I’m struggling,” Toby mumbled, “I haven’t actually done this before.”

“Kissed anyone?”

“Well, yes. But not a boy.”

“Toby, you aren’t struggling at all.” Adil ran his hands down his arms soothingly, surprised at their tenseness. “Please, relax.”

Toby took his face in his hands and kissed him again harder, sending him a few steps back to keep his balance. As if desperately trying to thank him for it all.

_He found out when he saw his older sister burst from their home crying._

_“Abba and Ammi are moving us to England!”_

_“Ruhi! That is not how we want him to hear this!”_

_Adil didn’t say anything. He just walked in a confused daze into their small kitchen, where his parents were sitting with cups of tea set out for all of them. They sighed, and father took off his cap. “Well, you already heard. We’re moving to England. In London, like my cousin.”_

_“Why?”  Adil didn't even know his father_ had _a cousin in London._

_“Business is down in the shop. Plus, your mother is pregnant. We’ve been thinking of doing this for a long time, but we thought this way your new sibling will be born a British citizen. It’ll make things easier for them. So we’re moving to London.”_

_There were other things he didn’t say, of course, but Adil knew of them all the same. Just how low their money had run. The increasing times he’d seen his father outside with a furrowed brow and a pipe between his lips. The pressure from their neighbors to his father to sell. The ever-precarious position of Muslims. There was a part of him that wondered if they knew about Rahul._

_Adil sat slowly. He’d never been to England. He’d only seen photos of London, and it always looked dark, looming, and scary. And cold. Tall, sharp buildings and stone faced people in thick black coats. He couldn’t even imagine it with color. “I don’t want to go.”_

_“Don’t be silly, beta,” his mother said. “It’ll be an adventure.”_

_“I hate adventure.” It was a childish retort, but he didn’t care. He pushed away the lukewarm tea, rose from his chair so harshly it skidded back, and took two stomping steps towards the door. He almost huffed up to his room, determined to be defiant. Perhaps it’s because Rahul had been nervously avoiding him lately, asking him to just give him some time to figure it all out. He didn’t need more confusion. But in another moment, an overwhelming feeling of defeat and exhaustion overtook him. “When?”_

_“A month.”  Adil nodded distantly. Finally, he trailed up to his room._

_Ruhi returned two hours later, still crying. She flopped on his bed, a habit from when they were young and needed comfort.  It didn’t work nearly as well now that they were grown and could barely fit on it at the same time. But regardless, he lifted his head so she could hug him around the neck and let out the rest of her tears._

_They were right. In only a month, Adil was watching the Hindustani shoreline disappear into the orange horizon from the deck of a heavy metal ship. He thought of Rahul, who had just looked at him with hurt and anger when Adil told him he was leaving, before finally calling him a traitor. Adil wasn’t sure if he meant to India or him. He tried to chase after him when he ran into the streets, but New Delhi was easy to get lost in if you tried. That was the last he had ever seen of him, and Adil expects the last he’ll ever see again._

_His mother joined him on the edge, so silently that he didn’t even notice her. Deep bags hung under her eyes as she watched their retreating homeland. Adil wondered if she even truly wanted this either, particularly in the middle of such a surprise pregnancy.  “I’m sure there’s something there for you in England. I’m sure.”_

_Adil didn’t think so, but he nodded in complacence._

“Adil?”

“Hm?” he rolled his head up to look at Toby. His bare chest was draped against his, nestled under the soft cotton sheets of his bed. In the two weeks they’d been together, this is the first time he’d stayed here this long, and he still couldn’t shake the feeling that Toby was about to ask him to leave at any time.

He still didn’t know how much of this was a fling for him.

“Do you ever...miss it? Just want to go back?”

“What?”

“Your home. I mean, India.”

Adil bit his lip. Perhaps Toby had always been working up to this question, or perhaps it was born of a momentary insecurity. Or maybe, Adil thought in dark humor, it was just Toby scoping out how guilty he’d have to feel should Adil be deported due to their tryst. Or maybe even Toby was just curious to know. He thought, trying to convey the weaving emotions that emerged when he asked himself that question every once in awhile. “Honestly, Toby? Yes. I do. I try not to, but I spent fifteen years of my life there. There’s things I miss deeply. The heat, being able to speak Urdu regularly, food, people.” Toby nodded in quiet contemplation, staring at the ceiling. Adil reached up to run his thumb over his cheek. “But there’s also many things I’ve come to appreciate about here, other things I’d miss. Snow is lovely, I’ve come to find. I actually don’t mind shepherd's pie as much as I expected. And I’ve become a rather good bartender, if I do say so myself. And of course, there’s you.” Toby rolled his eyes at that last comment, but he kissed Adil’s shoulder in thanks.

There was more that Adil didn’t tell him, complicated things that he wasn’t even sure about himself. That he mourned the connection with those who shared his faith, as the Muslims in Delhi had been tight knit--out of necessity as much as tradition. He missed the worshippers spinning in white and the familiar walls with Arabic prayers. He missed Eid celebrations with cousins of all distances. He missed his uncle’s lewd jokes that always flustered his mother but made him and his sister explode in shocked laughter. He missed the aunties sneaking him sweets when his parents weren’t looking. He missed late nights chatting with Ruhi in their shared bedroom. But with the loss of it all came a loss of supervision. In the first two years he’d lived in London, he’d lived more strictly than he even had in India; holding back on his affections, sure about his preferences but overly careful about never acting on them. It was a terribly lonely life, but he dared not venture further. His parents seemed pleased with how he held back from some aspects of British society, as much as they did want to form a home here. They didn’t catch on to why that was. They just noted that they had a young son who returned home immediately after school, who never outwardly protested when they brought letters from relatives about nice Muslim girls. But months after his seventeenth birthday, he couldn’t do it anymore.

_The dam burst. The building water that had been drowning him since he was fifteen rushed out in a roaring fury. Adil fell to his knees on the rickety wooden floor of his bedroom. A single flickering lightbulb swung gently above him, casting hazy yellow light over the cracked suitcase that he was flinging his belongings into._

_“I’m sorry,” he whispered to no one in particular. He wiped a tear from his face. He thought of the many fights he’d had with his parents lately--fights they often didn’t deserve, fights that were born of the gray London skies and snide remarks by schoolmates and his fear of looking at another man for just a little too long. They were stressed enough taking care of Dani, he decided. They didn’t need the stress of taking care of him too._

_Dani had been sleeping on the other side of the room, curled up on a low bed. He was barely more than a baby, so small and so vulnerable and to Adil’s relief, still fast asleep. The last time he’d been awake, he’d crawled up into Adil’s lap and dozed off when “Adi-ji” sang to him gently in Urdu._

_“Good luck, bhai,” Adil whispered, brushing thin black strands away from the boy’s face, “be a better son than I have.”_

_He had a friend--not very close, but with an extra room in his apartment and a need for a little extra cash, just little enough for Adil to manage._

_He closed his suitcase. Grabbing a wrinkled piece of paper, he scratched out an apology to his mother and a promise that he’d write to her soon._

_He didn’t know if they understood, or were angry, or on some level realized that he was a homosexual. But in any case, they never came to change his mind. He moved in with the friend. It was a tiny rickety flat with rats and roaches, and your breath ghosted from your lips on cold winter’s nights, but he didn’t think of going back._

He made decisions. Some good, some bad.

There’s a bar ten blocks from his Paddington apartment. It’s low underground and grimy and you need to know the right people to get in. A friend introduced him to it when he was eighteen, and at first he felt nothing but anxiety until he was too drunk to walk home. But he kept going back anyway. You can do plenty of things there, but one of them is talk to people who understand how you feel, who understand what you’ve been through. Who had asked the same questions you have.

The second time he went, he’d happened to strike up a conversation with a former seminary student. “God will judge us as He will. But I do not believe he will judge us for love when there is so much hate in the world.” Adil had repeated that line to Toby the week before when the latter had a bout of anxiety over the same thing. Adil would be lying if he said he never has those fears anymore either, but they’re more scattered, usually when he’s already worried about something else. He no longer prayed five times a day, but that didn’t mean he never prayed.

Sometimes, if the bar is shorthanded on a busier night and Adil happens to be in, he jumps behind the counter to help serve drinks as a favor. He noted to himself that he’d have to show it to Toby one day. When he was ready. Toby still had a lot of figuring to do for himself.

“Teach me a little Urdu.”

Adil raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

Toby shifted his position slightly so they were facing each other. “I mean, if we go to visit India someday, I should speak the language. Well, one of them. And besides...” Toby smirked impishly and ran his hand over Adil’s back, “you’ve already taught me plenty.”

Adil scoffed at the innuendo, if not just to hide how joyed he really felt. “You’d want to go back to New Delhi with me?” He imagined dragging Toby down the street, not just to the famous sights like the Red Fort and that new India Gate, but the places locals know. Places Toby wouldn’t have heard of. That old sweetshop, should it still be there. The best places to watch sunsets over the river. His childhood mosque. Let him taste his favorite desi dishes, nothing like an Englishman would ever have tried before, and don’t usually try even when they live there.

“Why not? I’m not sure when we’d make it, but if it’s something you’d like to do I’d like to see it. I want to see where you come from. Plus, I don’t know.” Toby shrugged, slightly embarrassed, “I like hearing you speak it, I wouldn’t ever mind hearing more.”

Adil studied the man for a few moments. Toby’s eyes didn’t waver, nor did Adil sense any jest in his expression. It would be years until something like this happened, Adil knew, if ever. Because of their lives and the political situation over there. But the thought of it...

“Main tumse pyaar kartha hoon,” Adil said. He immediately turned towards the wall. Toby would still not know what he’d just said, but anxiety thumped in his chest all the same. He still wasn’t sure, though, if he was ready for Toby to understand.

Toby scrunched up his face. “That was a lot. Wait...you said something like that to me before. At least part of it. You never told me what it meant.”

Adil closed his eyes serenely. “You’re smart, Toby Hamilton. You’ll figure it out.”

He wasn’t sure what Toby decided it meant. But he felt him rest his head against Adil’s upper shoulder. Adil grinned silently, checked once to make sure the alarm was set so he could leave before the rest of the hotel arose, and let himself drift off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language/Historical Notes (not as many this time, will be more in the next chapter):
> 
> Hindustan--means various things. Often term for the northern region of India specifically, including areas that are now Pakistan. Also used as a synonym in Hindi for India as a whole. 
> 
> The India Gate is a monument to the Indian soldiers that died in WWI, and was unveiled in 1931
> 
> Main tumse pyaar kartha hoon--I love you, with the intimate/informal form of you ("tum")


	4. Pyaar aur Parivaar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when Adil seems settled in his relationship, God seems to have other plans. First the blackmailing, and then a surprise encounter of his two lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay in this chapter, my computer finally broke down and I've had to wait for a new one. 
> 
> This chapter was inspired by a quick daytrip my class took to Brighton when I was studying abroad in London (Yep, I'm a Mr. O'Hara in this fandom, just an American writing away in my corner with my bourbon). I learned the history of the Palace architecture and the Indian soldiers cared for there from the guided tour, go figure. 
> 
> Thanks so much to all of you who read and loved this story. It really means so much to me to hear your feedback, and I honestly had so much fun writing this. I hope you enjoy this last chapter and here's to keeping this fandom alive!

“Darling, come look at this.”

Toby shifted in his chair to make room for Adil, before throwing his arm around him with the other pressed on a book page. Adil sat, pressed to his side and practically on top of him. Muted pattering of a nighttime rain filled the silence while pale golden light from a single lamp cast deep shadows over the room, and someone who didn’t know any better would say that the scene was peaceful, romantic even.

But not Adil. Adil knew better. His eyes shifted to the bag next to the desk, leaning innocently on a leg with just the corner of a page sticking out the top. He tightened his jaw as his stomach lurched. He fixed his eyes back on the page to which Toby pointed, willing himself into forgetting the bag’s contents and what he would do with them as soon as Toby left the room.

“Have you ever seen this palace?” Toby asked, “I want your opinion of it.”

Adil looked at the photo. He didn’t recognize it immediately, until he read the accompanying label underneath. Then it fell into place.

“Brighton Pavilion,” he said. Toby nodded. “And to tell you what I think…” He studied the domed ceilings with their petal-shaped windows on top of rounded fronts. The Islamic-style walls and spires. Vaguely Indian, in a sense. But filtered through the half-understood gaze of the west. “It’s attractive, in its own way. But not really much like ours.”

Toby studied the photo again, slowly tapping it with his thumb. “Have you seen it before?”

“Not in person. And not from the outside.”

A forgotten image drifted to his mind--Ruhi holding up a faded black and white photo to the sunlight filtering between the park trees. The juxtaposition of an ornate room--crystal chandeliers hanging from the high, intricately painted ceiling, a level of grandeur that Adil could hardly imagine before working at the Halcyon--with the rows of white-clad Indian men in hospital beds and English doctors strewn between them.

_“His father came here during the Great War. Was shot and taken to Brighton, where they were treating the Indian troops.”_

_“Quite the hospital,” Adil noted._

_Ruhi nodded. “Ibn said that he woke up in a total daze, and when he looked up he was being carried to what looked almost like Sultanate palace, but...wrong. Apparently it was terribly disorienting. He didn’t stop believing that he’d already died until he was strapped to a bed, when the pain kicked in. Still, apparently the hospital treated him rather well. He ended up staying, after the war. Brought Ibn and his mother over from Karachi.”_

_Adil nodded. He studied the way Ruhi cradled the note, the teasing trace of a smile at her lips when she read over its contents again._

_“So you really think you’ll marry him?” he asked. Ruhi’s smile fell to a frown._

_“I...don’t know.” She gingerly folded the letter back up and placed it, with the photo, in its envelope. “I think our parents are holding out for someone...wealthier. At least relative to us. And I’m not sure I can blame them. Wealthier, and from New Delhi.”_

_Adil rolled his eyes. “If they wanted to have their pick of better-off suitors for their daughter, then we shouldn’t have come here. She should be happy that you found a good Muslim man, even if he scrapes by.”_

_Ruhi bit her fingernail between her two front teeth. It is a habit he hadn’t seen her indulge in since they were children, but her eyes were distant enough that he wondered if she even realized she was doing it. “Ammi is hoping others will start coming over.”_

_“And what? They’ll live like kings in the Great Slump?”_

_“Adil…” his sister groaned, burying her face in her crossed arms over her knee, “this is serious. I love him, I really do. And I am so lucky to find a man like this. But I can feel their disapproval, Chota Bhai, and this is more than me reading books they don’t like or staying out later. They need...they need someone to take care of them in their old age, Adil.”_

_Adil felt the suppressed accusatory tone of her voice. That this responsibility has fallen on her now, since he left home with only a note of explanation. That they didn’t even know what they could depend on him for anymore. Still, ever-faithful Ruhi wrote to him more often than his parents did, and it was her who begged him to meet her in this park, saying she needed to discuss something their parents couldn’t hear._

_He put his arm around her. It had been a long time since he’d been able to do that._

_“I…” he sighed, unsure of where to go with this, “I think, I truly think, you need to go ahead and marry him. If you feel that it is right.”_

_“Adil…” Suddenly, she burst into frustrated tears, gripping her skirt in her hands. He did as he always did in moments like these, trained from an early age: rubbed her arm gently and shushed, until she’d quieted enough to listen._

_“Hear me out, will you please?” He placed his free hand over hers. “Our last name is Joshi. We exist because once, a Brahmin decided to break tradition and marry into a Muslim family. Things like this are in our blood.” It was Ruhi’s turn to roll her eyes, but she didn’t interrupt him, so he continued. “Abba and Ammi…” he sighed again, looking back down at his shoes, “Much more can happen with their children than one of them marrying a good man who perhaps doesn’t make what they like.”_

_Ruhi stared out to the park. Her mouth tensed in contemplation._

_“As for money, don’t worry too much. I just got a new job. I’ll help, I promise.” Though tears still ran down her face, she managed to break a smile at him with genuine excitement._

_“Really, Chota Bhai? Where?”_

_“The Halcyon. It’s a luxury hotel, I doubt I’d even be allowed in if I wasn’t serving drinks.” Ruhi’s brow furrowed, seemingly processing the statement. Then she let out a bubbly laugh and hugged him around the neck._

“Is something wrong, Adil?” Toby tightened the arm that was wrapped around his waist. Adil shook his head, perhaps too quickly. He closed his eyes and forced himself not to think of the bag next to the desk. To quell the pang of guilt that gripped his heart and the bubbling anger at the damned bastard who was making him do this. To ignore how painfully in love he was with the man next to him, the man who he was betraying, with the lopsided smile and the kind eyes that looked at him in adoration.

Adil pictured himself sitting in that same park, holding Ruhi’s hand and explaining that he and their parents were being deported. That her and her non-citizen husband’s life could hang in the balance too. His deepest regrets that he didn’t help them like he’d promised he would, not at all.

He was fifteen years old again, drowning with a fear that he couldn’t speak to anyone.  

“Your country makes some truly ridiculous architecture,” was all he choked out. Toby didn’t seem to notice his strained voice. He just laughed gently, taking his hand and leading him towards the bed.

Adil took one glance back at the bag again. _Please God,_ he pleaded in his mind, _Help me through this._ He turned back to Toby. In a moment, he took his face in his hands and Toby’s lip between his.  Kissed him hard, desperately. Toby invited it, of course, but to Adil it was nothing but a hopeless apology.

_Ruhi had been overjoyed to see him at her wedding, and truth be told he wasn’t even sure he’d show. There was more of Ibn’s family in attendance than theirs, of course, much more. But even his parents and father’s fabled cousin weren’t sure how to address him yet. Dani didn't seem to quite recognize him, until Ruhi stooped down to whisper who he was. Then the child ran to him and hugged his legs as if nothing had happened._

_Ruhi threw her arms around him after the ceremony, before dinner was to begin. “Thank you for looking out for me, Chota Bhai. Thank you so much.”_

Adil’s jaw nearly dropped when Ruhi stormed into the posh Kensington bar that night, letting in a frosty gust of late-winter wind that seemed to follow her as she marched forward. Instead, he tensed his jaw  to keep his straight professionalism.  

“Where have you _been_ !?” she hissed, throwing her hands on the bar counter. “What is _wrong_ with you!?” Adil took a quick glance around the room and indeed, some of the patrons were looking their way with raised eyebrows. He raised a hand in attempt to ask her to quiet down, but she swatted it away. “I can’t believe you, Adil. I expect long periods without seeing you at this point, honestly. Even times when you hardly write. But this? We already don’t hear from you, not for weeks. Then your hotel is bombed, and you can’t be _bothered_ to let us know that you’re _alive_!” She holds up her fist, containing a crinkled envelope of his last letter--just a short note to tell them where he had started working as the hotel was being rebuilt. “Only to send us this--hardly a paragraph. Ammi wept when she saw it, you know. She wept!”

“I’m truly sorry about that, Ruhi, but--”

“Your mother feels as though her oldest son has abandoned them.”

“They have another,” Adil retorted. It came out harsher than he meant, but many customers in the bar were looking at them then, whispering amongst themselves.

Ruhi looked appalled. “How dare you say such a thing? And speaking of Dani, don’t you consider how this has affected _him_...”

Adil closed his eyes, took a breath, then looked at her again. He walked from behind the counter to grab her wrist and, despite her continued protest, pulled her through the swinging door into the back room. “Half an hour,” he stated firmly, and she crossed her arms. “Half an hour until my shift ends. Then I’ll meet you somewhere.”

Ruhi only cocked her head indignantly. “I’ll wait.”

“Don’t be absurd. Surely your husband is waiting.”

“I told Ibn I might be long. He’s fine.”

“You’ll stand out in the bar.”

“Then I’ll stay back here. Who will notice?”

Adil looked at the clock and hissed out a breath. He was the only barman on staff at that time, and he needed to get back out. Ruhi’s smirk was triumphant. “Fine. I’ll be back at ten.”

To Ruhi’s credit, she didn’t speak when he met her among the bottles half an hour later. But her glare was heavy and impatient, clearly requesting an explanation that he could not give.

Adil had started many letters. One after Toby lifted him from the stairs (whispering his love enough times that Adil finally, slowly, started to believe it again) and, after taking him outside so that he may catch his breath and the gas might dissipate, lead him back inside. It wasn’t about the bomb, as they hadn’t learned of it yet; he’d only wanted to write after he’d nearly lost his life. Toby had held his hand as he tapped a pen on a piece of paper, but he still too distraught to form words. Instead, they had opted to return to the hotel. Toby hadn’t felt comfortable leaving him alone. Adil didn’t much want to be. But Toby soon found himself desperately stammering out an explanation to his tearful mother, who had assumed him dead, to why he had not been at the hotel when the bombs dropped hours ago. In short, there were other matters to attend to.

He’d tried again several times, especially after they knew their blackmailer was dead and their lives could, perhaps, resume. But nothing seemed enough. Not after he’d almost gotten them deported. Eventually, he only managed to scratch out a few platitudes for that measly note she held in her hand.

His head dropped. “Main...main naheen jaanta hoon.” He heard Ruhi take in a frustrated breath. “Maaf keejiye, Badi Behan. Hotel ke baad, main confuse aur ghabraya hua tha…”

“Naheen,” she said, though her voice was weaker, “not an explanation."

He wanted to tell her that he missed her, and how desperately he’d wanted to reach out for her, to get her advice and comfort. How he'd leafed through her letters the night everything had broken down, reading over her words and desperately searching for solace in them, but only finding more guilt. Instead, he gave her a weak smile. “When did you become a war nurse?” Indeed Ruhi, who’d been hard pressed to give up her sarees and salwars when they came to the west, was dressed in a nurse’s frock underneath her coat with an apron tied around her waist. Her dark hair was tied into a tight bun, now covered by a long white cap.

“Don’t you change the subject,” she snapped, though halfheartedly. Finally, she only looked away, sighing and biting her lip. She looked tired, and his chest panged with guilt, as no doubt this was not the only stress eating at her in this moment.

“I didn’t have a job till now, I had no wages to send our parents…”

Ruhi gaped. “You can’t possibly believe that’s all we’d care about.” Adil ran his hand over his hair and leaned against the shelf behind him. He had no more words to say.

“If you won’t tell me...” He saw a tear run down her cheek, but she seemed determined not to address it. “I don’t know what you saw at that hotel. But I’d like my little brother back, thanks, if he’s in there.” She spun on her heels towards the door, pushing it open. Adil groaned and ran after her, only to stop short.

Toby sat at the bar, looking about him and tapping his finger absently. Adil almost blurted his name, until he clamped his mouth shut and swallowed it down.

Toby noticed him. His eyes lit up in a way that would be charming had it not been for the circumstances. Then he saw the woman still standing next to him, who looked, even now, quite a bit like Adil. His mouth tensed, and he gave a quick questioning glance back to Adil, who returned with the slightest of nods.

If God had been totally merciful, he’d have given Adil a less perceptive sister. But that was never the case. Ruhi noticed Toby in an instant, and in another instant realized that he was exchanging glances with her brother. Her expression tightened in confusion.

“Adil,” she said, with an innocent chime, “who is this man?”

“He’s my employer.” Adil said quickly. “Well, was. A member of the family that owned the Halcyon. Mr. Hamilton.”

Toby gave the customary polite nod of aristocracy. “Yes, Mr. Joshi was a fine barman at our hotel before the bombing. I was just checking up on him.”

“Mr. Hamilton helped me get this position at such short notice.”  That was not a lie. Adil didn’t like Toby pulling strings for him, and told him as much. But a job is a job, and Toby had promised that he only sent out a few references with his family name, nothing more.

“That’s awfully kind of you, Mr. Hamilton, to be going out of your way like this for the staff.” Ruhi’s tone was calm and measured. Toby gave a humble shrug.

“Well, it was a traumatic event, for all of us. It does us no harm to look out for one another, right, Mr. Joshi?” Adil nodded, still unnerved. But Ruhi smiled, seemingly placated.

That is, until she took hold of her Adil’s arm. “May I have a word with my brother, sir?”

Toby gestured forward. “Of course, be my guest.” Slowly, Ruhi lead Adil back through the swinging door. Being sure it had closed completely, she turned back to him. The trained politeness was gone. Her expression had nothing but uneased seriousness.

“Adil…” she said, her voice strained like she was forcing herself to ask the question, “That man is your employer?”

“Yes, of course.”

She bit her fingernail between her two front teeth and looked past him. It Adil took not a moment to realize it, not a moment for the floor to fall from under him and his breaths to quicken:

She _knew._

Or at least, she suspected.

The seconds that passed as she contemplated her next move dragged on like hours. Adil’s mind raced, desperately concocting excuses, stories, anything. Nothing felt convincing. He watched her in dumb silence. She could run out, she could tell their parents, she could never speak to him again. She could sever the final strained ties he had with his family in an instant. Perhaps this was his price to pay for narrowly evading their deportation.

“Of course,” Ruhi repeated, voice wavering slightly but mostly calm, “Your employer.”

Adil breathed again. His heart filled with bittersweet relief. Willful denial, he figured, was the best he could ever ask for.

“Yes, he is.” Ruhi studied him. Her eyes looked uneasy, scared even. Her mouth twitched. But then she straightened her gaze, and nodded.

“Well, times must be bad, if the aristocracy are looking out for the likes of us.”

“He is very kind. Definitely the kindest of his family.”

Ruhi looked towards the door. Through the scratched window, they could see Toby sitting with his fingers tensely folded, that familiar look of barely-concealed discomfort across his face. Adil wondered if he and Ruhi were sharing the same thought in that moment.

_Look Ammi, one of your children found a wealthy man after all!_

“Go greet your employer. I’m sure he has something important to discuss with you.” Ruhi took a few steps forward, before tentatively pulling him in for a loose hug. He returned it, patting the back of her head when she mumbled, “Please be more thoughtful in the future, Chota Bhai. We just wanted to know that you’re alive.” Adil nodded, resting his forehead on her shoulder for just a moment before lifting it back up.

“Maaf keejiye. Main kasam khaata hoon.”

Ruhi huffed in mock frustration. “Haan, tum kahe.”

“Main ullu ka pattha hoon.”

“Haan, tum ho.”

Adil chuckled as he followed her out. She gave Toby a nod before walking past him and, letting another sharp breeze blow in, stepped out the door.

Toby was the first to speak. “Well then. Could have gone worse, I suppose.”

Adil hummed in agreement. “If you don’t mind, _Mr. Hamilton_ , I’d like to get out of here.”

They walked to Adil’s flat in mostly silence, though that was more because of the blistering wet London cold than anything. Adil watched the wet streets glisten under his shoes as he walked, mixing the reflection of the dim streetlamps above them. So Toby has met his sibling, he thought. Seems only fair, he’s served drinks to Toby’s plenty of times. He spoke this aloud to him, and Toby laughed, reaching around his shoulder to pat him in the arm. His arm rested for just a moment, as if it wished it could stay wrapped around him, but it dropped in another.

“I liked your sister, in all seriousness.”

Adil raised an eyebrow at him. “Toby, you hardly met her. And she was putting on a show of politeness. She can be far more irritating, I assure you.”

“She reminded me of you. So I like her.”

Adil smiled to himself. Ruhi was many things, things that Adil enjoyed and things he found difficult. But being compared to her still felt like a compliment he wasn’t quite sure he deserved. “Thank you, mitwa,” he whispered.

“Will your landlady be asleep yet?”

“No,” Adil said. He paused at the side of Paddington basin, looking out to the water. It rippled under them, looking almost as black as the pavement but in a smooth inkiness. There was no moon to reflect across it, as the sky had been a cloudy grey all day, the kind of grey that Adil had hated when he first came to this country but eventually came in terms with. “Soon, but I think we’d best wait a bit.”

Toby groaned, reaching in his pocket for a cigarette and his lighter. He lit it with some difficulty, but the smoke curled from his lips all the same, mixing with his visible breaths. He came to stand next to Adil over the basin. The pedestrians passed them without a second thought, huddled in their own coats.

“I'd wager that New Delhi is plenty warm now,” Toby mused. “Let’s just run away, right now.”

“Ah, yes. Hop on the nearest boat.”

“I’m sure I can find us somewhere to stay.”

“Wouldn’t raise any eyebrows, English aristocracy traveling with his servant.”

Toby tutted and shook his head. But then he smiled, that rare wide one that never stopped making Adil’s heart beat faster, even after all these months. It was these moments that he lived for, when everything hard and risky about their relationship seemed to fall away in the winter winds, and though Toby was still the employer and Adil was still the bartender, they didn’t need to care.

_The young man plopped down on a bar stool. He was muttering to himself, as if he didn't realize there were others around, though his eyes locked on the clicking glasses and dancing pairs. His frown was tight, as if he was trying to hold it up to no avail. His pointer finger tapped the counter, with the other hand curled into a tight fist and his jaw equally clenched. Adil's first assumption was that it was a rude beckon for a drink, and he suppressed his mild annoyance--just something to get used to, he supposed--to approach him._

_"What would you like, sir?"_

_The young man looked up. Then his eyes widened, as if he'd just then noticed the others in the room, and the tapping turned to slight tugging at his overlong sleeve. Adil resisted the compulsion to make a similar gesture on his own overly stiff one. The head bartender had already given him scoffs of disapproval. He thought of Ruhi, and his promise to her--what a brother he'd be if he got fired in mere weeks._

_"Gin, please," he said, voice low, almost timid, and hardly heard over the sudden crescendo of the trumpets. Adil wasn't used to hearing timid from gentry._

_"Whatever it is that is bothering you, sir," Adil said lightly, reaching below the counter to find the bottle, carefully cataloging in is mind which held the gin and which the vodka, "There are some that say our job is to help you forget."_

_A gentle grunt. "Trust me, I've tried that method. It never gets me anywhere."_

_"Many of them say that too, at first."_

_A beat. The man's eyes softened. His anxious tugging ceased."I suppose you are right." And then, a smile._

_The change on his features was immediate. His handsomeness, while visible before, seemed to radiate off of him when not hidden behind a slump and glare. In dark curls and large eyes that seemed to shine with intelligence._

Voh khoobsurat hai, _Adil thought, then immediately stopped that risky train short. Even as he instinctively smiled back. He had just enough will to keep it closed-mouthed._

_The conversation that followed was short, mostly professional. Adil noticed the bent pages of a small book tucked into his waistcoat, and asked him about it. The young man pushed it down closer in embarrassment at first, but little by little started to talk of Fitzgerald and Gatsbys and it's interesting class commentary, their obvious surroundings seemingly be damned. That smile reappeared once or twice. Adil hadn't wanted it to end, and even his personal reprimands for such thoughts seemed to take a pause. Still, end it did, when the young man took a glance at his watch, and leapt from the stool as if it had burned him. "Sorry, my father, I--" but then he stopped, shaking his head. Adil knew why; there was no need for him to explain himself to the new barman. He huffed out a sigh, gave Adil a stiff nod, and turned away._

_"Who is that?" Adil whispered to the head barman, a tall and looming man to which he was still trying to endear himself. He shouldn't have, he knew. He shouldn't mind. He did._

_"Mr. Hamilton."_

_Adil's eyebrows shot up and his face went hot. "Hamilton? As in the son returning from his studies?" The party, while modest compared to most, was meant to celebrate the heir of this hotel returning home. Adil had pictured him proud and serious, like the Lord Hamilton who walked the halls with his head high and his eyes alert. Not swamped in a barely-fitting suit and hiding from the festivities at the bar._

_"Oh no. Well," the bartender shrugged, and whispered, "technically, yes, but_ _Freddie is the one we need to look out for. That was_ Toby _Hamilton._ _He's the younger son in the family. Don't mind him. He just stops faking a smile around nine _."__

_Toby Hamilton, Adil repeated in his thoughts. The name whispered itself again and again as he watched the glasses glint in the bright lights of the ballroom._

_He didn't think he minded him much at all._

 “I love you,” Adil impulsively said just over a breath, glancing back to make sure no pedestrians looked their way.

Toby turned to look at him. His eyes were still smiling, though his mouth dropped slightly. “Main-- wait...” Toby’s face furrowed, and Adil couldn’t help but chuckle. He reached forward and placed a hand on his arm.

“Main bhee…”

“Main bhee…” Toby repeated.

“...tumse pyaar…”

“...tumse pyaar…”

“...kartha hoon.”

“...kartha hoon.” Toby said the words slowly, concentrating on each syllable. “Main - bhee - tum - se - py - yaar -  kar - tha - hoon.” He grinned triumphantly, and Adil ached to kiss him right then and there. Instead, he opted for a smile and a pat of congratulations.

_I love you too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language/Historical Notes:
> 
> Pyaar aur Parivaar: Love and Family
> 
> Like in WWII, Indian troops fought for the UK in WWI, providing 1.5 million men. Brighton Palace, which is known for its mock-Indian architecture (said by its builders to be "Hindu" in style, but as the museum pointed out when I visited, it's far more reminiscent of the Islamic-style Indian architecture from the Mughal era), was converted into a makeshift hospital with over 700 beds to treat Indian troops. The photo Ruhi is holding is based on a real photo, which can be seen here: http :// www.telegraph .co .uk/ history/world-war-one/11026562/How-Brighton-Pavilion-became-a-temporary-hospital-for-Indian-soldiers-in-WW1.html
> 
> Karachi is now in Pakistan, but was considered British India until independence with the India/Pakistan partition of 1947. 
> 
> What Adil and Ruhi are saying in their conversations:
> 
> 1\. "I...I don't know. I'm sorry, big sister. After the hotel, I was confused and scared..." "No. Not an explanation."
> 
> 2\. "I'm sorry. I swear." "Yes, you said." "I'm a fool." "Yes, you are." ("ullu ka pattha," which literally means "son of an owl", is kind of loving slang for a fool. I put it in partially as a reference to the Bollywood song Ullu ka Pattha, which reminds me a lot of Adil before he and Toby got together)
> 
> Mitwa: Hindi/Urdu term for Beloved, Dear Friend, etc.


End file.
